


A Study in Serpents

by twilfit_and_tattings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, MWPP Era, Other, Snily, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilfit_and_tattings/pseuds/twilfit_and_tattings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One might say that the friendship between Severus Snape and Lily Evans was doomed to more than its share of difficulties from the start. A series of pivotal moments in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_1 September, 1973._

"Now, Severus," Lucius Malfoy's voice slid silkily out from the train compartment. "Your manners are atrocious. Do invite her in. I've been dying to meet your little... _Muggleborn_."

Facing the hall, Severus was hunched slightly in the doorway, as though the awkwardness of the situation had come to settle across his shoulders like a physical weight. His eyebrows sloped forward, knitting together, and he spoke through lips already thinned in resignation.

"Won't you...won't you come in?" he mumbled, staring fixedly at a worn-out patch of carpet by his own left shoe. Lily Evans, arms crossed tightly across her chest, made a queer sort of barking sound that might have been a laugh.

"You're joking." Her eyes narrowed. "You know I don't get on with him. I think he's a prat." She peered over Severus' shoulder into the compartment, where Lucius was smirking in genuine amusement, as though watching a scene from a marvelous play. "And he knows I think he's a prat," she said, loudly enough for the other boy to hear her, scowling in at him.

Severus sighed and leaned against the doorjamb, blocking Lily's line of sight into the room beyond.

"He's not a prat." The look on her face sharpened, incredulous. "Anyway, we can take a stroll around the hall if you want," he added hurriedly. "I wouldn't mind sniffing out the snack trolley-"

Without a word, Lily had grabbed him by one skinny adolescent elbow and begun to steer him towards the other end of the car. Despite the fact that she looked halfway capable of breathing fire at the moment, Severus couldn't suppress a little shiver of delight at her touch. She stared straight ahead as she frog-marched him past doorways leaking purplish smoke - likely the result of repeated games of Exploding Snap - muffled incantations, and intermittent roars of laughter.

They stopped at the end of the car, Lily turning to stare up at him. Her scowl, fearsome though it was, could not disguise the warm prettiness of her face. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders like a wave of tinted fire, or wine made solid. Dry-mouthed, Severus found himself absorbed in searching for the right word to describe its exact color, and was consequently rather startled when Lily cleared her throat.

"I do _not_ understand it, Sev," she said jerkily, as though biting back nastier words only with extreme effort. Though this was not a question, Severus knew he was supposed to respond; however, Lily's small white hand had still not relinquished its grip on his arm, and that fact was shockingly distracting.

"Like I said, he's not so bad," Severus said, almost pleadingly. "You might...you might like him if you tried." This was a feeble lie, and they both knew it.

"Not so bad?" Lily repeated. "Not so bad?" She finally let go of Severus' elbow, shoving it away from her as though it had burned her. "You remember what he did to that little first-year Hufflepuff last winter? They never got his eyes properly uncrossed! Or when he knocked Greta Catchlove out with some dirty Dark jinx? It took Madame Pomfrey three weeks to put her right-"

She stopped cold, staring at something over Severus' shoulder, and a spasm of disgust crossed her face. "I should've known it was you lot, making all that racket," she said, her nose wrinkling.

Stomach sinking, already knowing who it was but unable to stop himself, Severus turned around to face James Potter and Sirius Black. The former was leaning casually against the doorjamb, his loathsome face arranged into a triumphant smirk, the latter just behind him and looking equally self-satisfied.

"Now, now, Evans, don't go acting like you didn't miss us," Potter scolded; the effect was somewhat ruined by his lazy grin. "We know you've been gutted not to see our handsome faces for two months." Lily made a derisive noise, but seemed to decide chilly silence was the best reply. Severus couldn't suppress a sneer.

"But you've got Snivellus here, too!" Black broke in delightedly, a savage grin lighting his face as he shifted his gaze to Severus. "Had a good summer? Had loads of fun skipping showers and spying on Evans from the bushes, did you?" Severus' hand had slipped into his pocket almost of its own accord, his fingers twitching toward his wand.

"Actually, Sev and I had a perfectly lovely summer," Lily said coolly, and Severus' itchy, roving fingers instantly froze. "We even went to Brighton one weekend, didn't we, Sev?" Severus felt his heart do a tingly, stuttering backflip in his chest. Potter's grin contorted into a nauseated expression, and his eyes narrowed to slits behind his glasses.

"It was brilliant," Severus said quietly, watching cold, plain dislike etch itself across Potter's face; his fingers had found his wand. Black's face was slack with unflattering disbelief, his eyes darting from Severus to Lily and back again.

"Right. Well, Evans, your taste in men runs a little greasier than I'd have expected." Potter had recovered quickly, though there was now a distinct chilliness to his words. "You might want to work on that." His smirk was back in place. "Let me know when you're in the mood to have a snog-" his eyes flicked to Severus' face, and the smirk broadened viciously. "-without having to work around that gigantic beak."

Hot ripples of anger pulsed suddenly outwards from Severus' chest, an electric sensation skating down through his arms as though they were live wires. His grip on his wand tightened convulsively, reflexively, and he felt it grow warm within his hand, like it was coming to life. For one breathless second, he imagined slashing into Potter, his spell sharper than the cruelest knife, and watching the blood weep out through his thin T-shirt. Severus did not relish gore, but he thought he might make an exception; he was certain the raw, red smell would not turn his stomach if it was coming from James Potter's wounded chest...The desire to do it was large in his throat, choking and dizzying...

But _Lily_.

Whether she could sense what he was seconds from doing, or simply wanted to reassure him, he didn't know. But Lily's hand had found the crook of his elbow once more. Just the smallest squeeze, and the frightening, swollen fury went out of him like a stale breath. Yes, he thought, trying to master his racing pulse. Potter could say all he liked, but that didn't change the fact that Lily hated him deeply. He, Severus, was her friend, her confidante. Her favorite.

He tore his gaze from Potter's horrible grin, looking instead at Lily, beautiful and calm as ever. She granted him an uncertain smile, her hand still gently enclosing his arm. A second flame sputtered into life in his chest, but this time it was smaller, comforting instead of suffocating. He looked back at the two boys he so hated, the hunger shadowing their eyes. It suddenly occurred to him how badly they wanted - _needed -_ him to react, to give them a reason to do their worst. But with Lily next to him, stoking that cheerful little fire behind his ribs, looking at him with something like hope, he couldn't, even as all of the blood in his veins roared for retaliation.

"Get bent, Potter," he snarled. "And you too, Black." It was his turn to grab Lily's arm, and as he started to walk away, he pulled her firmly along with him, back the way they'd come. "Let's find that trolley."


	2. In Which Introductions Are Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily attempts to bridge the gap between friends of different Houses, with mixed results.

_27 October, 1973_

"Well, Lil," Marlene McKinnon began brightly, her voice a notch higher than usual, "why don't you just wait here for him? Em and I wanted to go to Honeydukes anyway-" Her hands already splayed out on the slightly sticky table, she began to rise from her chair.

" _Sit_ ," Lily snapped, irritation flaring in her gut. She gestured to the mug sitting innocently in front of Marlene; it was still halfway full of butterbeer. "You haven't even finished your drink," she pointed out flatly. Marlene sank back down into her seat, rolling her eyes.

"Worth a shot," she muttered, snatching her mug up and taking an enormous gulp. Returning the heavy tankard to the table with a loud  _clunk_ , she leaned forward, smirking expectantly. "Well? When is His Snakeliness going to grace us with his presence?" It was Lily's turn to roll her eyes.

"Oh, honestly," she huffed. "I know some of the Slytherins are really rotten, but Sev's all right!" After all, it wasn't  _his_  fault that Lucius Malfoy had been known to practice Stinging Hexes on first-years who got lost in the dungeons, or that Violetta Bulstrode was given to Leg-Locking anyone who dared block her view of the mirror in the girls' toilet. Marlene cocked a ginger eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Lily heaved an exasperated sigh and turned to her left.

"Sev deserves a chance," she insisted, glaring pointedly at Emmeline Vance. The other witch avoided her eyes, opting instead to busy herself with a loose thread at the end of her Ravenclaw scarf. Emmeline was never one to be violently opposed to anything, but she had an unnerving habit of ignoring unpleasant situations in the hopes that they'd simply dissolve around her.

"You've never even  _spoken_  to him, have you?" Lily pressed, sensing weakness. The tops of Emmeline's round cheeks went pink, and though her gaze was still stubbornly devoted to her scarf, her head gave the tiniest lateral jerk. Lily smiled in satisfaction.

"Exactly my point!" She brandished her butterbeer in triumph, slopping a bit of foam onto the grimy tabletop. "You two just need to talk to him. He's a bit quiet, but he's sweet. And he's  _brilliant_ in Potions, Marlie, maybe you could use a tutor for-" Marlene quelled her with a glare, skepticism fairly radiating off of her like an aggressive perfume. Lily sniffed and took a sip of her half-spilt butterbeer.

"Be that way, then. I just want all my best mates to know each other, and I don't think that's asking too much," she said defensively. Marlene groaned.

"Lil, it's just-" She froze, and her face wrinkled. " _He's here_ ," she hissed through clenched teeth. Lily turned to look just in time to see the door of the Three Broomsticks swing heavily shut at Severus' back.

Seeing him in his baggy Muggle clothes for the first time since the train ride to school, it was apparent that two months of Hogwarts food had done him considerable good; he no longer looked quite so underfed, though his grey sweater still gaped noticeably around his thin neck. She felt a rush of affection as she took in his expression: the tiniest, thoughtful crease appeared between his eyebrows as he squinted, frowning, looking for her through the murky light of the pub. She raised a hand to wave, about to call out, when his black eyes found her. His face lit up, his small, serious mouth blooming instantly into a grin of such unabashed happiness that her insides gave a sudden warm squirm that had nothing to do with butterbeer.

"Hi, Sev!" Lily greeted him as he approached the table. His eyes darted nervously to Emmeline and Marlene's faces in turn, and his grin flickered. Lily beamed at him as she stuck a well-placed kick to Marlene's shin beneath the table. Less well-placed was her elbow to Emmeline's ribs; her aim was slightly off, and the other girl let loose an indignant squeal as she jabbed her somewhere near her liver.

"Wotcher," Marlene ground out, her mouth hovering just between a smile and a grimace. Lily shot her a look, and the other girl dutifully scrambled sideways on the bench, giving the spot she'd just vacated an awkward pat. "We, er, saved you a seat."

"Thanks," Severus murmured, sliding onto the bench and shaking his long, dark hair out of his face. From the look of him, it had started raining since they'd arrived. His eyes were somber again as he glanced from one unfamiliar girl to the other. "I'm Severus," he added, the hopeful note in his voice wrenching something in Lily's chest. Marlene's face still carried a steely hardness behind the unconvincing smile, and Lily was emphatically reminded that bravery was not the only trademark trait of Gryffindor. So  _bloody_  stubborn.

"I'm Emmeline," came a soft voice from Lily's left. She turned to look at her friend, and with a tingling rush of relief saw that her smile, though small, appeared genuine."I sat behind you in Charms last year." Her cheeks were still faintly pink. "You're one of Flitwick's favorites," she added, clearly admiring. Severus colored slightly, but looked pleased. Lily glanced expectantly at Marlene. The other girl sighed.

"Marlene," she introduced herself flatly, having taken to examining the tips of her long hair. "I don't remember you from class, but Lily says you're  _brilliant_." The sarcasm in her tone was unmistakable. Lily kicked her again, while Severus went utterly scarlet. He made a spluttering noise, as though trying to gather together the syllables necessary to disagree.

"Shut it, Sev, you know you are," Lily said bracingly, her heart giving another painful throb as she took in the bewilderment on his face. "But go on, get yourself a drink. Try the butterbeer, it's good!" He nodded, still flushed, and shot off towards the bar. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lily pounced.

"What in  _blazes_  do you think you're doing?" she snarled at Marlene, who had moved on to cleaning out bits of fuzz from between the links of her silver bracelet. Her fake smile had long since faded, and she met Lily's hard gaze with a look of cold indifference. She tilted her head, then snorted, smirking mirthlessly.

"Come off it, Lil," Marlene said, her words thick with scorn. "Slytherins don't make good pets, you know."

It was like someone had replaced her blood with petrol and jabbed her veins with a lit match. She was suddenly on fire, all at once angry and wretchedly sad. Marlene was rather well-known for her sarcastic streak, even amongst the older students; she was pretty enough to get away with her cheek most of the time, but on occasion she hopped the line into cruelty. Lily had been so hoping for Severus to win her approval, hoping for him to be spared that barbed tongue, but Marlene's prejudice against Slytherin House went fathoms deep.

Seething and biting back a few choice words, Lily tore her gaze from Marlene's detached smirk and looked towards the bar. Severus was still trying to get the attention of Madam Rosmerta, who was being thoroughly distracted by a couple of fifth-year Ravenclaw boy. The barmaid was ten years out of Hogwarts if she was one, but judging by the color splashing her high cheekbones, she wasn't above a bit of adolescent flattery.

"My mother was in Slytherin," Emmeline said suddenly. Lily's head swiveled back to stare at her in shock. Her tone was light, but she was giving Marlene a hard, unsmiling look, as though daring her to say something nasty. Marlene, to her credit, had the good grace to stop smirking immediately. There was an unpleasant pause.

"Right, well, doesn't mean she's not lovely," Marlene said hastily, before burying her face in a very long pull of butterbeer. This was generally as good of an apology as one was likely to get from Marlene. Lily caught Emmeline's eye and smiled in gratitude. Though she otherwise avoided confrontation, Emmeline was one of very few people who could effectively reign Marlene in when she came over too callous. This was a useful balancing act, as Lily's temper usually got the better of her in such situations.

"The service is a bit slow here, isn't it?" Severus said breathlessly as he reappeared a moment later, clutching his own mug of butterbeer. He glanced nervously at Marlene, who looked as though she'd just been force-fed outdated milk. There wasn't the faintest attempt at a smile, but she did jerk her head curtly towards his vacated seat. Lily let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was a start.


	3. In Which Slytherins Enjoy Their Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus finds a small, warm space of acceptance over the Christmas holidays, but just as quickly realizes that it comes with certain strings attached.

_22 December, 1973_

"Happy Christmas!" chirped the tiny cotton-ball snowman brightly, as it waddled across Severus' palm. Its little pebble feet bumped against the fleshy ridge below his thumb; it paused, and peered up at him with ink-spot eyes. "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas!" it exclaimed, flapping its toothpick arms with enthusiasm. Severus prodded its belly morosely, but the snowman only repeated itself, with the same unbridled joy. Lily's Charms work was, as ever, flawless.

Severus had woken that morning to find the snowman perched on his bedside table, cheerfully humming "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs" from within its green tissue wrappings. Lily had included a note saying that since she couldn't stay at Hogwarts over Christmas break, she had charmed the snowman to act in her stead, or, as she had put it, "provide you with enough Yuletide cheer to choke a mountain troll". She'd also gotten him a rather enormous box of Honeydukes' peanut butter fudge, "as the snowman's not a proper gift, anyway".

He had tried in vain to talk her into spending the holiday at Hogwarts. His father, true to form, had vanished again a few days into December, and his mother had told Severus sadly that he might as well stay and enjoy the festivities at school, as on her own she wouldn't be able to afford both his gift and a decent Christmas supper. Luckily for him, several of his housemates were also remaining at the castle, though he doubted their reasons were quite as wretched as his own.

A large-knuckled hand appeared suddenly in front of Severus' face, startling him so badly he nearly crushed Lily's gift. A cut crystal glass, filled a third of the way with something amber-colored, was dangling from the fat fingers.

"Oy," said a thick voice just behind him, no doubt speaking around a mouthful of something nicked from the kitchens. "Have a drink with me, Snape." Severus grabbed the glass, mostly to stop it bouncing into his nose. He turned slightly in the leather chair, looking upward. Reginald Nott, a heavyset fifth-year Beater for the House Quidditch team, was staring down at him, his dark eyes slightly glassy.

Severus sniffed Nott's generous donation, and nearly gagged; it smelled like wet firewood doused in mouthwash, and he was fairly certain the fumes had actually set his sinus cavity on fire. "What is it?" he asked warily, blinking as his eyes watered.

"Put a bit of peppermint schnapps in with Firewhiskey," Nott said, shrugging, as he walked around to stand in front of the chair. "Tastes like dragon dung, but it does the trick." Severus couldn't fathom what would possess a person to do such a thing, but he simply nodded as though he knew the first thing about recreational drinking. His father had let him have half a bottle of hard cider on his birthday the previous winter, but that had been sweet and fizzy and wonderful; he had a feeling that sampling the unholy mixture of liquors in his hand would have almost nothing in common with that experience.

"Your health," Nott said with a grin, knocking his own glass firmly against the one clutched in Severus' hand. "Bottoms up!" Severus tried to smile back at him, but managed only a sort of terrified grimace. He lifted the drink to his lips, intending to take only the tiniest of sips, but then Nott's hand was beneath it, tipping the glass upward and sending its noxious contents shooting downwards into his startled mouth.

He felt like he had taken a gulp of jet fuel, or clamped his mouth around the tailpipe of a car, or perhaps swallowed the sun. It was quite different from piping hot soup or fresh tea; not only did it burn horribly, but the sensation felt as though it were actually  _growing._ For one clammy moment, he considered vomiting, but he told himself to think of it as just another dramatically unpleasant-tasting potion, like some awful relation of Pomfrey's best Pepperup. He swallowed hard and squinted, wincing as the liquor snaked hotly down into his stomach, and started to cough. Nott roared with laughter and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good, eh?" he said proudly. "I think I'll call it a Peppermint Fireball." Severus could only nod, saved from having to weigh in on such a name by his own hacking and sputtering. Just then, a sixth-year prefect whom Severus was reasonably sure was called Siobhan Harrigan walked into the dim, greenish light of the common room. She took one look at the two others, clutching their glasses and, in Severus' case, swaying slightly, before her rather pretty face hardened into a scowl. "What have you got there, Nott?"

Nott was the portrait of innocence. "Nothing," he said, with what he seemed to think was a winning smile. It was technically true, as their glasses were both empty and he hadn't brought the liquor bottles out with him, but Siobhan did not look won over in the least. Her eyes slitted as she walked over to them.

"What did you give him?" she asked flatly, gesturing to Severus, but glaring at Nott. The other boy didn't say anything, instead staring determinedly at his feet, gnawing at his lower lip, and otherwise looking very guilty. Siobhan huffed in annoyance, and bent down to examine Severus; she still wore a deep frown, but her eyes softened the slightest bit as she looked at him.

"Did Nott give you something to drink?"

Severus was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded, but the fire tracking from mouth to gut had faded to a pleasant warmth, and though on any normal day a confrontation with a prefect would've given him arrhythmia, at just that moment he was struggling not to find her prickly seriousness rather funny. He thought it might be amusing if he answered "pumpkin juice", because it was so clearly  _not_  what he had been drinking, but his lips were suddenly feeling sort of numb, and he thought it might be best if he stayed silent.

Siobhan took a sharp, deliberate sniff of the air in front of his open mouth. Her eyes flashed in recognition, and she straightened up at once. " _You gave liquor to a third-year?_ " she hissed, jabbing her finger into Nott's broad, solid chest. Nott opened and closed his mouth without uttering a sound; he looked as though his brain was working furiously, and seemed unaccustomed to such exertion. After a tense moment, Siobhan's nostrils flaring and Severus fighting a sudden mad desire to collapse into giggles, Nott found his voice.

"No! I mean, well, yeah...but it's  _Christmas_!" His tone was equal parts panic and tentative reproach. "You can't really want to dock points from your own House on  _Christmas_."

"It's not Christmas yet, Nott," she countered tartly, crossing her arms. "Give me one reason, one  _good_  reason, why I shouldn't."

Nott looked stumped, and shot a glance down at Severus. He had been watching the proceedings with detached interest, but at this gave the older boy a silly grin that he hoped communicated his complete inability to assist in any way.

But something seemed to click into place in Nott's thick skull then, because he suddenly grinned, wide and lazy and confident. "Because, Harrigan, I know how much you  _love_  peppermint."

* * *

Severus had never particularly wondered what kind of miserable existence a bag of wet sand might lead, but the following morning he found himself quite able to give an educated guess.

He woke at half ten, sprawled limply in the rigid, dispassionate embrace of his dormitory's stone floor. The cold had numbed him in several places: his cheek, where it flattened against the ground; his ear, cushioned only slightly by the black sheet of his hair; his exposed hip, as his ill-fitting sweater had ridden up to bunch at his waist. After several hazy moments spent mentally locating his various tingly and deadened body parts, he decided to attempt to sit up.

He peeled his face off of the ground, pushing himself upright with his hands, one of which was strangely sore. As he straightened his torso, the world swung dangerously left, and he scrunched his eyes shut in nauseous panic. One deep breath, two deep breaths. Once the ground seemed to have settled back into place, he opened his eyes and looked back down at his right hand. The knuckles were an angry, mottled mess of red and purple, shot through with delicate lines of dried blood here and there. He flexed his hand into a fist and inhaled sharply, nausea spiking through him again, as his tender skin stretched and pulled over what could very well have been a fracture or two.

Panting slightly, he struggled to his feet on limbs that felt like water. The room around him spasmed in warning, and he found the wall with his shoulder in case things went crooked again. He cast about the empty dormitory with bleary eyes; it looked as though he had scarcely made it through the doorway last night before he had crumpled to the ground like a sack of laundry. He waited another moment before moving again, wanting to be certain that fickle gravity was going to stay put for the time being.

He turned to look back through the doorway, and his stomach gave a sickly jolt as he spotted a suspicious-looking puddle in the shadows of the hall. Now that he thought about it, he did remember being rather spectacularly ill at the end of the night. Most of the Firewhiskey had ended up in Nott's ironclad belly, but a small amount of it seemed to have found a temporary home here, most likely after Severus' body had vehemently disagreed with the decision to try another Peppermint Fireball.

Severus fumbled for his wand, finding it poking out of the back pocket of his pants and thankfully in one piece. He vanished the puddle with a slightly raspy " _Scourgify_ " and let out a long breath that rattled his lungs on its way out, reminding him sharply of his one or two spluttering drags off of a Coyle's No-Stink Cigar. He stumped over to his bed on rubber legs, and flopped down onto the mattress with a sigh.

After snuggling his way under the blanket, he began to sleepily piece together the shards of his evening. An hour after his first drink, Severus had found himself losing horribly and repeatedly at a drinking game Siobhan and Nott had taught him. He wasn't entirely sure he ever actually understood the rules, but as each loss was lubricated by a large gulp of schnapps, he had found it difficult to care much either way. The three of them had been joined at some point by a mousy fourth-year boy who he was sure had not introduced himself, and a girl in Siobhan's year named Judith.

In retrospect, Nott had been entirely correct about Siobhan's decided weakness for peppermint liquor; after five rounds, she had become every bit as warm and giggly as she had been hard-nosed and severe an hour before. Her face shone out bright and pink between the curtains of her cinnamon hair, laughing loudly and often. Severus remembered noting, as though from a pleasantly detached spot a little farther into his own skull than usual, that Nott had done quite a bit of staring at Siobhan's transformation, though much of the time he was a blink away from cross-eyed.

After they tired of the card game, there had been several rounds of "Merlin Knows I've Never", accompanied by endless choruses of laughter. Severus had stayed very quiet, more than happy to observe the older students' attempts to embarrass each other with increasingly outlandish and graphic claims. That game, too, had ended, after Siobhan had gotten Nott to admit that he had once shagged a girl from Hogsmeade who refused to take off her balaclava the entire time; this confession had so infected the group with giggles that they could scarcely sip their drinks, much less come up with anything better.

Despite the mutinous churning of Severus' stomach and the unsteadiness in his legs, a sense of debauched contentment settled into his bones as he reviewed the night. He had certainly not expected invitations to carouse with much older, much more popular students when he had settled on spending the holidays at school. If this was how his Housemates spent the days leading up to Christmas, he wondered what kind of magnificent trouble they could get into on the day itself.

But a small, wormlike thread of doubt suddenly began to wriggle about beneath his warm feeling of acceptance. What  _had_  he done to his hand? Surely he hadn't gotten in a fight? His knuckles were on fire with the hot, stinging itch of hours-old wounds, and his stomach flipped over as he examined the rust-colored scabs . He had the sardonic thought that it was a good thing he had a couple of weeks to heal before he'd have to write any essays, as his quill hand was currently one large, clumsy bruise.

He let his hand fall back to the bed, letting out a hiss of pain as it made contact with the scratchy wool blanket. His eyes probed the shadows veiling the inside of his green canopy, as though the explanation for his injury hid just out of sight. As he turned the events of the past twelve hours over in his mind, he realized there  _was_  a bit of an ill-tempered haze over part of the night...The doubt-worm was swiftly growing to the size of a garter snake...

He seized on a confused image of Nott's face, his mind catching it with what felt like the tips of uncoordinated fingers. Nott had been very flushed from the whiskey, of course, but it wasn't only whiskey that had hardened his eyes to chips of onyx, with thick eyebrows hooded over them in anger. He had been saying something about...Judith? It was a girl, Severus was sure of it. Did Judith take the last of the whiskey after all?

And then it exploded into his mind like shattered lightning.  _Lily_.

* * *

" _That Harrigan's a bit of all right, i'n't she?" Nott was slurring noticeably now, staring across the dimly lit common room with a slack kind of smile on his face; Siobhan had fallen asleep in one of the large leather armchairs flanking the fireplace, her body a jumbled heap topped with auburn curls._

_Severus nodded, then felt his own mouth curve slightly. "I do like redheads," he admitted; he was slurring his words, too, joining them together, as though he were pronouncing the connective swirls in cursive writing. Nott swiveled his head to give Severus a highly amused grin._

" _Oh? Sounds like little Snape has a crush!" he exclaimed, his words brimming with whiskey-tinted delight. Though Severus' face was already painted vibrant pink with liquor, he could feel blood surging into his cheeks._

" _I do not," he mumbled, wishing he still had a drink to hide behind. Instead, he began picking at a crusted bit of mud on the rug with clumsy fingers, avoiding Nott's gaze._

" _Oh, come on then, out with it!" Nott said cheerfully, pounding Severus between the shoulder-blades so hard that he coughed. "It's all right, I won't tell anybody," he added, clearly trying to give him a brotherly wink; his facial muscles, however, no longer seemed to be entirely under his control, and he just ended up squinting with both eyes._

_Severus remained stonily silent, but this did not exasperate Nott; rather, he seemed to enjoy trying to parse out this new riddle. He ran through a litany of Slytherin girls, ranging from sulky, glamorous seventh-years all the way down to first-years who still couldn't find the Defense classroom without a guide. Severus grunted at each wrong guess, until finally Nott lolled his head back and let out a hearty groan. In the end, Severus couldn't fathom what made him decide to respond; perhaps he was just tired, or maybe a little part of him wanted to brag about his friendship with the prettiest girl in third year._

" _She's not in Slytherin," he said slowly. Nott raised an eyebrow at him. "Name's Evans."_

_Nott's forehead wrinkled. "Evans? Don't know her. She related to anyone?" Severus shook his head and licked his lips, which were suddenly feeling dry and rather thick._

" _She's...she's Muggleborn," he almost whispered, and as soon as the words were out, he knew with terrible certainty that he never, ever should have said them. Their effect on Nott was instantaneous; though a second ago he had been lazing about on the carpet, limbs loose in his drunken stupor, he went entirely rigid, and he scowled so quickly and so hard that it looked like it hurt._

_A million excuses rose like bile in Severus' throat. She's brilliant in school, she's great at magic, she's beautiful, her family are idiots, she's adopted, he was joking... Which would it be? He couldn't say any of them, though; his throat felt as though it had swollen shut. He blinked, time stuttered slightly, and suddenly they were both standing, Nott bellowing in his face, flecking his heated skin with spittle, eyes ablaze._

" _A filthy Mudblood?" he spat, his hands balled into trembling fists at his sides. "Out of all the girls at Hogwarts, you're off fancying some swotty_ Muggle _?" Nott swayed slightly on his feet, sneering. "You make me_ sick _."_

_Severus felt as though his feet had grown into the rug. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, could only stand immobilized in horror: horror at himself for tossing out his most heavily protected secret so casually; horror at Nott's frightening, feral reaction; horror that no words of defense for his friend were materializing in his slack-jawed mouth._

" _She's-" he began lamely, his alcohol-sodden brain twisting and constricting in his skull with the effort of piecing together the proper description. He suddenly felt very cold._

" _She's a slaggy bit of rubbish!" Nott roared, eyes bulging, looking quite mad for a moment. Severus felt an icy jolt race through him, and all at once he was shouting back; a string of savage obscenities tripped off of his tongue like bits of hot lead, his muscles coiling painfully in preparation to either strike Nott or defend his own body, whichever came first._

" _DON'T YOU EVER – DON'T YOU_ EVER _-" He was screaming himself hoarse and incoherent, and Nott got a very ugly look on his face, a dangerous look. Severus was gripped with the sudden knowledge that if he did not leave right that very moment, Nott would break his nose. Or worse. Though his every nerve burned with resentment, Severus spun on his heel and ran from the room, breathing through what felt like needles of fire. He stumbled blindly into the hallway that led to his dormitory, unbearably tense and shaking so hard that he thought he might rip himself apart. He stopped halfway to the door, chest heaving, feeling as though he would choke on the expanding throb of his own pulse._

_Lily was Muggleborn, but she was good, and kind, and beautiful, and smart. Her blood status didn't matter. How could it? Nott himself could barely stand a cauldron the right way up. But Severus knew many of his classmates felt differently. The only pure blood was wizarding blood, they would say, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. It shouldn't be mixed._

_An image of Lily's snowman flickered into his mind. It was probably crushed under an unconscious form somewhere in the common room by now, murmuring Christmas carols into someone's navel, but it had been so_ brilliant _. How could anyone think Lily wasn't perfect just the way she was? A fresh wave of fury broke over him, his teeth almost chattering with it, and though the hall was scarcely lit, he could tell his vision was darkening; even as he was filling up and pulsating with anger, the alcohol was catching up with him._

_With a strangled yell, Severus slammed a fist into the wall at his side, and there was no pain, just a sense of brutal satisfaction as his knuckles met the unyielding stone once, twice, three times. He pulled away and stared at the wall, drawing quick, ragged breaths; he'd wanted to crack it, dent it somehow, though he dimly supposed that was impossible. But he had left a mark: a shimmering smear of blood, jewel-bright against the slate. Severus could almost have smiled, but at just that moment he was drowned in the overwhelming urge to be sick across the hallway._

_A moment later, panting and trembling, he managed to drag himself through the threshold of his dormitory. His last thought before collapsing into a clammy, sweating heap was a fervent promise never to accept anything from Nott again._


End file.
